Everything for the "party" has been set up in the big barn as is customary. The guests are not to know that this will be a small affair, not a big event like announced in the invitation. The boar they slaughtered is roasting on a spit in the huge fireplace and does not look or smell any different to a wild boar in the dimly lit room and with the herbs and spices they added. The highlander had a well equipped wine cellar beneath his house which they plundered. There was a medium-sized keg of beer, too, which is now standing on one of the tables. In addition to the plenty of filled-to-the-brim wine carafes, the wooden tables are laid with plates and cups as if at least two score guests were expected, and everything is bathed in candle light. It looks quite festive. A pity they cannot sit down and enjoy the feast themselves. What a waste, but - hopefully - it will be worth it.
It is very lucky that darkness is already falling when the first guests arrive. Thus they cannot see any suspicious details, like, for example, the host couple's facial expressions. The husband and wife do not exactly display the excitement and happiness that would be expected of them at an occasion like this one, far from it. Well, knowing the barn is surrounded by strategically placed enemy soldiers ready to kill them all might do that to people, Gallatin suspects. The fact that all their children are locked up inside the main house together with a firebomb that will go off at a single word uttered by the elf seems to have left a lasting impression on the parents and servants, too. Funny how readily they believed the lie. Seems like prejudices and superstitions can have their advantages after all. For how should these people know that elven mages are extremely rare? The only one he has ever met was Francesca Findabair while he himself possesses no more magic than Cahir or any of the other Nilfgaardian soldiers. The highlanders did not even for a single second doubt his ludicrous story about how they got out of the caves with the help of a gigantic air bubble that he, the alleged elven mage, conjured up so they could survive the tunnel with the toxic gas. How very fortunate that humans so readily believe all the rubbish you tell them if it feeds into their biased preconceptions. Now they don't need a guard to keep the kids indoors and quiet and can fully concentrate on Cahir's "party."
The first guests that Gallatin sees arrive from his hide-out are a clan leader with his wife and two adolescent sons. It would have been better if the man had come alone, but perhaps the presence of his family will make him more inclined to accept Cahir's conditions? Gallatin truly hopes it will. He has killed plenty of humans in his long life, however, he would very much prefer a peaceful solution if possible.
The farm owners, fearing their children will go up in flames the second they warn the guests or do anything that could be interpreted by the closely watching Nilfgaardians as an attempt at treason against them, act out their roles as hosts almost to perfection. Knowing what is really going on, Gallatin notices the tiny pearls of perspiration on the wife's forehead and the slight tremor of her hands as she fills the guests' cups with wine to welcome them as custom demands. The husband's voice is just a tad too loud and boasting to be believable when he tells about the unusually successful hunt, but Gallatin is pretty sure that the guests perceive none of these very subtle signs of nervousness. And neither do the other two parties when they arrive. One of them is a remarkably tall and broad, middle-aged man with two servants or friends or whatever, the other rides in together with what looks like his three brothers and several sons or nephews in their early twenties. All in all, Gallatin counts sixteen guests plus the host couple and the servants. A lot more people than they have hoped for and especially more men that look like they know how to shoot a bow and swing a sword. However, does not the proverb say, the more, the merrier?
"Our other guests have been delayed, but I say, let's start with the feast. A cheers to you, my dear fellow highlanders!" the husband exclaims, raising his cup of wine. The servants hurry to pile crisp meat onto the guests' plates and everybody digs in with an appetite - everybody except the hosts.
"What's the matter? You two look like something crawled up your arses and died!" the very tall highlander sitting opposite the host exclaims. He takes a long draught from his cup and, having emptied it, bangs it onto the table. "More wine!"
Suddenly, there is another bang. The doors of the barn have fallen shut. Then they hear the sound of a heavy bolt being slid into place, effectively barring the main exit.
"What the fuck?" the tall clan leader exclaims, jumping up from his seat and grabbing the hilt of his sword. The other male guests do likewise.
"Calm down and let me explain, Wultan. It's—"
"You bloody traitor! Did you sell us to fucking Nilfgaard?" the tall guest by the name of Wultan growls. He draws his blade and points it at the host's chest, his face red and contorted with sudden rage.
"Hold your horses, man! And put down your weapons - all of you!" Gallatin hears a familiar, commanding voice. Cahir has ducked inside the barn through the low back door and now steps into the light.
"My men have their arrows trained at you. If you as much as blink the wrong way, they'll shoot," he warns, his hand on the pommel of his sword. "But nobody needs to die tonight. If you sign a couple of contracts and swear fealty to Nilfgaard, you are free to go. Thus is the justice and mercy of the benevolent White Flame!"
"To hell with your White Flame! And to hell with all the traitors!" With a swift movement, Wultan thrusts his sword forward, the blade cutting into his host's throat. Blood spurts from the grisly wound onto the table as he yanks it out again with a furious roar. Next to her husband's crumpling corpse, his wife shrieks shrilly, then her voice turns into a gurgling sound. The clan leader on her other side has embedded his dagger in her throat.
"Loose!" Cahir shouts and a split second later burning arrows start flying into the room from hidden hatches in the barn's clapboard sidings. One highlander goes down, an arrow protruding from his chest where it must have pierced the heart. Judging by the precision of the shot, Gallatin's work, no doubt.
"Out, get out!" Cahir yells at the servants urgently, grabbing one of them by the arm and pushing her through the back entrance. Two more are still inside. He draws his sword and blocks one of the highlanders who is making a dive for him and the door. Their blades clang together so hard, Cahir can see the sparks fly. Or are the glimmering, tiny dots coming from the hay that is catching fire all around them?
He stabs the highlander in the gut, cuts off the next one's head and yanks another servant toward and through the exit. One is still missing. Cahir looks around. There she is, behind an upturned table not far from the door, but Wultan is standing between her and the exit and more highlanders are trying to make a run toward it through the burning hay and straw and the arrows raining down on them. One of the men Cahir recognises. It cost him a lot of self-restraint not to jump from his hiding place and thrust his blade into the man's neck when he came riding up to the barn together with Wultan. Uveld aep Maern, his former subordinate, the bloody turncoat. This is the day he will die. But, as maddening as it is, he cannot target the traitor just yet. First he needs to save the servant. The women were supposed to sneak out as soon as he opened the back door. However, everything descended into violence and chaos a lot faster than anticipated, thanks to the irascible Wultan and his sword. It was obviously naive to hope the clan leaders would listen to reason, but that they would be so quick to murder both their hosts took him by surprise. The couple as well as the servants were meant to survive this nasty party, he had promised them as much.
His sword already dripping with blood, Cahir leaps at the highlander who is blocking the way out for the servant girl. But he cannot leave the exit open and unguarded. Fuck. He has to fall back, defend the door with his life and shut and bolt it as quickly as possible. If the girl does not make it through to him on her own before the only exit is closed off, she is lost. Damn it.
Standing in the door frame, Cahir soon finds himself battling three highlanders at the same time, blocking their only escape route from the fire that is spreading throughout the building at record speed. With his left shoulder far from fully healed, he feels himself slowing down quickly. Shit, he has to abandon the girl and close the door. But how can he do that while he is busy fighting off the highlanders?
"Need a hand, friend?" he suddenly hears a low, husky voice from behind.
Gallatin! They must have run out of arrows by now. It is probably impossible to see the human targets clearly with the barn filling up with fire and smoke anyway. With a vicious swing of his blade, Cahir drives Wultan away from the door and back into the burning barn to make space for the elf. While Gallatin is holding the door, he might have a last chance to rescue the servant. But they need to finish this quickly before they catch smoke poisoning again. With another loud roar, Cahir charges at the highlander, dealing a powerful blow to his head. Wultan parries and their swords lock in midair.
"Run, now!" Cahir shouts at the frightened girl behind the table. And this time she does. She springs to her feet and hurries along the wall toward the exit. Gallatin finishes off one of the highlanders he is crossing blades with and makes space for her in the door opening while charging at his second opponent, one of the adolescent boys. He is not a bad fighter for such a young lad, but no match for the elf. It takes Gallatin less than a minute to disarm him. Although it goes very much against his grain to kill the boy, they agreed that none of the "guests" must get out of this alive. They would know that it was not an unexpected ambush but a trap from the start and that the family and servants knew about it. They might take revenge on the survivors. Moreover, the news of this nasty party is supposed to send a clear message to the rebelling highlanders, a threat of what will happen to them and their families if they do not comply. Showing mercy would diminish its impact. Killing him with one instantly lethal blow would be more merciful than leaving the lad to burn to death in any case. So, without hesitation, Gallatin thrusts his blade into the boy's heart.
"Cahir, get out!" he then shouts. His eyes have started to water despite him being so close to the exit and the fresh air. It must be much worse where his friend is fighting the tall highlander. Burning straw is raining down on them, too, and the entire hayloft has caught fire and might come crashing down any moment.
Cahir has just evaded an almost mortal blow when a burning beam falls between him and his opponent with a loud thud. Wultan stumbles backwards, further away from the exit. As much as Cahir longs to stab the man through the heart, it would be idiocy to follow him. Gallatin is right, he needs to get to safety. Now. The fire will do the job anyway. He turns around and sprints toward the door, ducking and coughing as more pieces of burning wood fall from the ceiling. Loud shrieks and wails of terror begin to fill the barn.
Reaching for his badly panting and coughing friend, Gallatin grabs Cahir by the arm, bends his head and steps through the open door. Vach and another of Cahir's soldiers are standing there ready to shut and bolt it after them. The elf can already feel the fresh night air caressing his face. He takes a deep breath.
Suddenly, there is a muffled groan right behind him. Gallatin whips around, alarmed. For a split second he sees a face glaring at him through a rain of embers not far from the entrance, a somewhat familiar, leering, crazy face. However, before he can think of who the man might be, Cahir collapses right into his arms.
"Cahir? Damn, Cahir!" Gallatin shouts and quickly drags his friend away from the door while Vach bangs it shut and secures it with a heavy wooden pole. From the inside, people start banging against it, shouting and cursing but the door is made of sturdy wood, there is no way they can get out, not even if they hack at it with a sword. They would need an ax or a battering ram, but, of course, they made sure there would be no such thing inside the barn. The highlanders who are still alive are doomed to die a horrible death in the inferno of flames.
Gallatin could not care less. All he sees is the hilt of a dagger protruding from his friend's lower back and the dark, wet stain that is forming and growing around it on the fabric of Cahir's cloak. Fuck, fuck, fuck!